Perfume.
Peaches. Soft. Sweet.
Sharp, unmistakable.
I pause, instincts kicking in. Something, or someone, is in the bed.
A shadow moves beneath the thin fabric of a chemise. My eyes narrow.
“Are you… Ana?” I ask, my voice low, cautious.
The figure freezes. For a moment, it’s like we’re both caught in the same daze.
Then she shifts, and I see her profile, the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulders; recognition flares in both of us. My eyes take in her mouth, the way she holds herself, that quiet defiance filling the space.
She stirs, reaching out instinctively as if to steady herself, and her gaze lands on me. Her eyes are wide, alert, startled, and something else flickers in them—curiosity, disbelief, awareness.
I flick the light on. The soft glow illuminates her face. Dark hair cascading around her shoulders, eyes flashing—Leanna Campisi.
Not Ana.
I take a slow breath, locking the image in my mind. She sits up, clutching the covers, still stunned, still caught between confusion and recognition.
“You… how did you—?” Her voice wavers, unsteady, but demanding.
21
LEANNA
I’m tryingto shake the sleep off as fast as I can, and to think clearly, trying to ground myself.
Nikolai Ivanov is massive. I’ve always known that. The weeks in that room at Ahren taught me enough, but here, in this hotel suite, with our real names and faces between us, he seems even bigger.
And I know how fast he is. How strong. If I bolted, he’d have me in three steps. My pulse kicks harder just thinking about it.
I have a handgun in my bag, but it’s out in the kitchen.
Out of reach.
“Why are you in my room?” His voice is low and calm, but there’s steel in it.
“This is my room,” I shoot back, trying to sound steadier than I feel. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He lifts a key card, scowl cutting deep lines into his face. “They said the place was overbooked. Apparently, I was smart enoughto check in online, so they didn’t give mine away. At least, that’s the story they fed me downstairs.”
I can’t stop looking at him. Not just his scowl, not just his height or the tension in his shoulders, but his lips.
Those lips that have explored every inch of me and made me forget everything else in the world.
“I’m not here to ambush you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He arches a brow, that cool, knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. “Oh?”
I gesture to myself, my disheveled state, eyes still blurry from sleep. “If I were,” I say slowly, “you really think you’d find me face-down in the pillows, wearing a nightgown, with no weapon, or backups?”
He chuckles, low and deliberate, and the sound vibrates through me, hitting someplace deep. His gaze doesn’t just land, it lingers, sharp and cutting, mapping every twitch, every breath. It crawls under my skin, lighting up my nerves.
My heart’s slamming. Nik is here.
